


A Strong Heart and Nerves of Steel

by clio_jlh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, F/F, Femslash, Las Vegas, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Singing star Marin Morrell has just booked ten weeks at the Desert Inn in Las Vegas, but the sound system hasn’t been updated in years. So of course she calls the most talented sound engineer she knows.  It isn’t long before she realizes that there might be some other benefits to Braeden taking the job.  (Historical AU set in 1973.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strong Heart and Nerves of Steel

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Follow Your Groove](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697959) by [clio_jlh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh). 



> Plays in the same ‘verse as my Laurel Canyon AU [Follow Your Groove](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2697959) where werewolves exist and our Teen Wolf pals are a bunch of hippie singer-songwriters in the early 1970s. All you really need to know is that AHMR and Peace are bands.
> 
> Thanks to pinetreekate for the beta and the encouragement and i_am_girlfriday for the general enthusiasm! Originally posted for tumblr TW femslash week and TW women of color week.

Three days after the second AHMR/Peace tour ended, Braeden received a person to person call up at the Hale place.

"Heard you might be looking for a gig," said the woman on the phone. No preamble, not even a hello, but the voice sounded familiar. She didn't even pause for a reaction, but went on, "I just signed to do ten weeks at the Desert Inn."

"Miss Morrell?" Braeden asked. "You'd like me to run the sound board?"

She laughed. "If you're going to work with me, you might want to start calling me Marin. I'm not Diana Ross. And no—running a sound board night after night in the same theater would be a waste of your considerable talents."

Which was true. Working out the sound in a new city every night had been a challenge. But now that she'd been in nearly every amphitheater in North America and Europe, with two big tours over the last three years, she was ready for something new. "Then what would you need from me, Mi—Marin?"

"Mr. Hughes has agreed that it's time for the sound system in the Crystal Showroom to be modernized, and you are just the woman to do it."

"What's the catch?" Braeden asked, eyes narrowing. Sure, she'd gotten her name out there, earned a good reputation between building the Hale studio, the records she'd worked on and the AHMR/Peace tours, not to mention the AHMR live album that had just been released to soothe the masses while the ladies took some much-needed time off. But she was still young and inexperienced relative to the old timers who usually worked in Vegas, and while the rumor was that Howard Hughes was not-so-slowly going off his rocker in a hotel room someplace, that didn't mean he'd hand over the keys of the famed Crystal Showroom to a young black woman.

Marin laughed. "You think my recommendation and your accomplishments wouldn't be enough? You've worked in television, recording, and live venues of all kinds. You're perfect for the job."

"What's the _catch_ , Marin?" 

"It has to be ready by the first of October," Marin admitted, sighing. "And you can only close down the room itself for a week."

"Next month?" Braeden paused. "I'll need a lot of help, and to see the room before I can commit."

"Of course. Come out as soon as you can. There'll be a room for you as part of your fee."

Money, that was something she hadn't had to think about in a while. She'd have to talk to George Hale about what her fee should be, out in the world. "What's the budget?"

"It's a Hughes casino," Marin said. "There isn't one."

"I'll be there within the week," Braeden replied, because while she was suspicious, she wasn't an idiot.

* * *

Marin was relaxing in a cabana by the pool when Braeden arrived three days later with Derek Hale in tow. 

"Lady of leisure?" Braeden asked. "I thought you were in rehearsals."

"Come in out of the sun," Marin said, sitting up and pouring them each a glass of water. "And I had six hours of dance earlier this morning, so I've earned it, thank you. I hope you brought your swim suits. Road in from the airport's awfully dusty."

"Road from LA, you mean," Braeden replied, sitting down and seeming none the worse for wear for her long drive, though she drank thirstily.

"Nice surprise to see you again, Derek," Marin said. "I should have known George would send you—I would have arranged for a room for you as well, and you could have brought your drummer along."

Derek had an odd, almost sheepish expression; not quite a smile but close to it. Braeden was smirking at him, which told Marin all she needed to know about how much teasing Derek received regarding his first foray into romance. He cleared his throat. "I'm only here for a couple of days, until the contract is signed. Of course Braeden can take care of herself, but—"

"But Hales and the wolves that work for Hughes go way back," Marin finished. 

He nodded. "Maybe we'll take you up on that room when we're back for your opening night."

"I'll hold you to that," Marin replied.

"After this he's meeting Stiles in Vermont," Braeden said, still smirking. "They've got a cabin."

Derek went faintly pink, which Marin didn't think was from the sun. He eyed the pool, then said, "I think I'll take that swim now."

"Changing room's just over there," Marin said, and off he trotted, rucksack over his shoulder.

"I suppose I should say thank you for the opportunity," Braeden said.

Marin shook her head. "Not until you've seen what you're up against. I don't think they've changed the place in ten years at least, maybe longer. We could go tonight and you can hear for yourself."

"I don't have any other plans. And before you say it, yes, I brought a dress with me. Talia insisted."

"I would never," Marin said, though it now occurred to her that if she'd seen Braeden in anything other than pants she didn't remember it. Her usual uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt suited her far too well, but it was a little incongruous in Vegas. "And I'm closer to your age than to Talia's, thank you very much."

"Sorry," Braeden said, laughing. "Of course you are. You just started so young, and you're so self-assured."

"The same could be said of you," Marin replied, holding Braeden's eye. She did seem different even than she had been when Marin had seen her last, only three years before; clearly her work with the Hales and the years on tour had given her not just experience but well-earned confidence. Womanly, rather than girlish, which was much more Marin's style.

Maybe there would be an unexpected benefit to this arrangement.

Derek came back to the cabana at that moment, changed into a stylishly snug pair of maroon swim trunks. "Am I interrupting?" he asked.

"Nothing that can't be continued," Braeden said, breaking their stare to look at him. "And we're going out tonight."

"Of course," he said. "That's what you do in Vegas." He walked over to the diving board and plunged into the water like a knife, all wolf-like grace, with the eye of every woman and not a few of the men upon him.

"He's going to have a hard time avoiding the girls looking like that," Marin said.

Braeden shrugged. "Lydia made me buy an orange bikini in St. Tropez," she said. "I'll wear it tomorrow. That plus a glare should get them to keep their distance."

Marin pictured Braeden in such a suit, and her mouth went dry; she reached for her water. "How kind of you."

"What are friends for?" Braeden said, smiling.

* * *

Braeden didn't even need to hear the sound to know that the Crystal Showroom was in desperate need of modernization. The place still _smelled_ like the Rat Pack that had made the Desert Inn, and the city of Las Vegas generally, the place to be. But that was over ten years ago. You could look around the room and see how much everything had changed, what with women coming to a nightclub in pantsuits and no bra, the men unshaven. 

Even Marin, who was much more mainstream than the folks Braeden had been hanging with lately, had let her hair go natural and was wearing hot pants and a little jacket. She looked good, _really_ good, in a way Braeden hadn't really noticed before, or indeed that very afternoon when Marin had been swanning around in a caftan and turban like she was Liz Taylor. Marin wasn't much older than Braeden herself, and now she finally looked it.

It was distracting.

Luckily Marin was too busy pumping Derek for the details about life with Stiles to notice that Braeden wasn't talking. Not that Braeden could blame her, as Derek-in-love was irresistible, easily embarrassed and seemingly baffled that the whole thing had actually happened. It would have been funnier to leave Derek to his fate—certainly a better story for his sisters later—but then he looked to Braeden for rescue and, well, he _had_ let her drive the Mustang for the entire trip from LA.

"They fell asleep in the living room listening to the Beatles, and were still there, cuddled up like puppies, when we got up the next morning," Braeden said. "That's when the rest of us knew, anyway."

"That must have been adorable," Marin said.

Braeden grinned. "I'll send you the photos."

"Please don't," Derek said, sighing. 

Marin put a hand on his arm. "She's a very lucky girl," she said, changing pronouns for the sake of prying ears, "and I'm sure she knows that."

"Thanks," Derek said, nodding, and put his hand on top of hers. "And what about you? You know Mom would be very upset with me if I didn't ask."

She shrugged and smiled. "Not all of us get to mix work and play the way you do," she said, then sat up straighter. "Anyway, I'm a working woman paying her own way and I don't need a man. Isn't that right, Braeden?"

"Absolutely," she replied, though Marin's answer surprised her. She would have thought Marin would be fending them off with a stick.

The show started, and Braeden turned her attention to the job at hand. It took her seconds to realize that she had quite a task ahead of her; the sound in the room was lifeless and dull, tinny like the speaker on a television set. After the first song she got up and wandered about the room, from the back corners where the sound literally bounced off the walls to the seats near the stage where it drifted, thick like fog. She'd expected something out of date, but state of the art for its time. The Crystal Showroom was not even that.

"So?" Marin asked, after the opening act, when Braeden had made her way back to their table. "What's the verdict?"

Braeden squared her shoulders. "You are absolutely not performing in this room as is," she said. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Derek raising his eyebrows.

Marin sat back and crossed her arms, her smile letting Braeden know that she'd expected that particular answer. "Well," she said, after a beat, "when you put it _that_ way."

* * *

It took a week or so for Marin to realize her mistake.

She'd only meant to give an opportunity to someone who had the expertise and was hungry for the challenge. When she'd said that she would have hired Braeden to be the engineer on her television show if she hadn't been busy building George and Talia Hale's new studio, she'd meant that. She'd even had a chance to spend some time in that very studio, while Braeden was away on tour, and had been even more impressed than before. And she wasn't the only one; no less than Lester Bangs in _Creem_ had recently gone into some sort of manic fugue state describing how good AHMR sounded on tour and how expertly that had been captured on their new live record. Knowing how George had trained Derek in the art of negotiation, Marin suspected that Hughes was paying a pretty penny for Braeden to update his premiere performance venue, but even then he was buying just before the market skyrocketed. In all honesty, he should be paying Marin a finder's fee.

No, the mistake wasn't on the technical side, but the personal one, because before she had the chance to open in the newly refurbished and updated Crystal Showroom she might die from her need to fuck Braeden.

Of course Marin wanted to talk to her about the project, hear all about the technical concerns and the challenges of getting various union types to follow her direction. Marin wanted to sit in the pool with Braeden in the orange French bikini that perfectly complemented her skin tone and discuss the set list for the show, the radio hits adapted to Marin's own style, and the costumes Marin now couldn't wait to wear but by the end of the engagement wouldn't be able to look at. Marin wanted to eat dinner with Braeden each evening, just slightly distracted by the muscles in her upper arms growing firmer with all the heavy lifting and pulling herself up into the rafters of the theater, and dish every bit of show business dirt that either of them had unearthed.

But she already _got_ all of that, had gotten it for nearly ten days now. What she didn't have was the right to bring Braeden back up to her room and peel that bikini off her, kiss her pink lips, feel those muscles holding her down as Braeden had her way with her. What she didn't have was someone to share her ridiculous California king-sized bed with, someone she was careful not to wake in the morning when she went to rehearsal. What she didn't have was a reason to ask Braeden to stay on in Vegas after opening night.

Hell, she wasn't even sure that Braeden had any Sapphic tendencies. Marin had been led astray more than once by other women giving her the eye, but then she was a star. She'd noticed Braeden noticing some of the ladies around the pool—discreetly, to be sure, but Marin had admittedly been watching Braeden quite closely. She herself hadn't had any encounters with women since, wow, since Kali, which had neither lasted very long nor ended very well. 

"Marin?" Alan said, in a tone of voice that implied he'd been trying to get her attention for a few minutes.

She turned to him. "Yes?"

"Ah, you're back with me, good," he said. "I know you had dance rehearsal this morning, and you're distracted by that pretty young thing of yours, but we do need to get these songs more solid by the end of this week."

"I know, I'm sorry," she said, putting her hands on the piano. Then her mind caught up with what he'd just said. "What pretty young thing?"

Alan, predictably, just laughed at her. "Talia's sound engineer."

"Don't be disgusting. She isn't much younger than I am, to begin with." 

"My point is, usually you've been some man's pretty young thing. But you're the headliner now, so you should go ahead with that."

"I'm not like them," she said, scowling. "I'm not going to force myself on her in exchange for anything."

"Of course you aren't. But there's no harm in, shall we say, following up. She's certainly been giving you the once-over."

"Has she?" Marin asked, and he grinned at her. "I don't even know why I told you. You can hardly be described as helpful even at the best of times."

"Who else are you going to tell? I could see you were bursting with something for at least a week. Just do me a favor and wait until opening night? And for now, focus on the show?"

She nodded. He was right—this was a big break, and the show deserved her complete attention. Doing something about Braeden could wait a couple of weeks until after the show had opened; neither of them were going anyplace. And thinking about her could certainly wait until she saw her at dinner, or later, when she was alone in her suite …

" _Marin_!"

"Sorry, sorry!" she said, shaking her head to clear it. "Let's take it from the top."

* * *

Braeden had not come all the way out to Las Vegas to get a crush on a singer. In fact, she'd always prided herself on resisting the allure, especially of the female talent that came in and out of the various studios and sound stages she worked at. So often they were skittish, desperate to align themselves to a powerful man as the surest route to good songs, good production values and therefore success. Instead she dallied with the session men, or sometimes the backup singers that were even more jaded than she was about this business of show. She and Boyd had and on-and-off thing more due to familiarity and convenience than anything else—not love, but mutual respect and affection, and that could take a person a hell of a long way.

Working at the Hale studio and getting closer to Talia, though, had begun to change her mind. Not to mention watching all the musicians around her falling in love like dominoes, even her own best pal Derek who'd all but sworn off the stuff not long before he met Stiles. Sure, three years on the road was a challenge for all the new relationships, and there had been some rocky times and strained sleeping arrangements on the buses, yet they'd all come out the other side still going strong. While this wasn't hugely surprising with the number of werewolves involved, seeing it up close still tended to make a girl a little less cynical and a little more open.

Marin, on the other hand, was a Druid, and therefore it was almost impossible to get a read on her. With pack integration their ancient role was less important, but they were all still as inscrutable as hell. Marin had come by the theater a few times in the mornings when Braeden was climbing around in the rafters in a tank and shorts, and she seemed to have appreciated the view. Braeden was also fairly sure she saw Marin's eyes widen when she first saw that French orange bikini, which also didn't leave much to the imagination. But every time Marin would cover that initial reaction over with friendliness and professionalism, even when they were alone. It was driving Braeden nuts. 

So she went straight to the one person who might have some information. 

"Of _course_ she's had dalliances with women," Talia said. "She just knows how to keep it out of the rumor mill."

"Okay," Braden replied. Then: "Aren't you wondering why I'm asking?"

"I already know, dear," Talia said, and Braeden could almost hear her shrugging over the phone.

Then something terrible occurred to her. "Are you _matchmaking_?"

"To the extent that I can," Talia said. "The timing is certainly fortuitous. I might have suggested to Marin that the Crystal Showroom could use an update. But she came up with your name on her own."

Braeden didn't know what to say to that.

"It's my responsibility, dear. You're pack just as much as any of us, and even if I didn't feel that way Derek would insist."

"Have you been matchmaking with all of your pack?" Braeden asked.

"Well, Stiles was a wonderful surprise, and Scott and Allison fell together so quickly that they didn't need my help, but I've given a nudge here and there. Cora and Isaac are expecting their second child, you know."

Braeden thought back to the last time Boyd called, when he said he was helping Laura work on the songs for her new record. "Laura and Boyd?"

"Don't you think they'd be wonderful?" Talia asked.

"He does like a strong-willed woman," Braeden said.

"And he's even tempered, an excellent thing in an alpha's mate. But I'm so glad you agree. You know him better than anyone." She paused. "And that you wouldn't mind it, being otherwise occupied."

"Nothing's happened yet," Braeden said. 

"Likely won't until the show is underway," Talia said. "But anticipation is so delightful, isn't it?"

Braeden sighed. "Anticipation could kill a girl."

"Nonsense," Talia said. "You're strong-willed too, you know. Now, tell me how your _work_ is going. That's just as important, if not more so."

Braeden went with the shift in topic gratefully, eager to share all the technical aspects with Talia that she'd already discussed with Marin. As she did she realized that Marin felt the same way, about the importance of the work, and that itself was a rare enough thing. Worth waiting for, certainly.

* * *

Braeden nearly changed her mind about waiting during that final week. The previous show had closed, so Braeden and her team were free to pull out all the existing microphones, speakers, wiring, the sound board, all of it. But Marin was there, too, doing final blocking on the stage. Of course these weren't dress rehearsals, so Marin wore dance clothes—a leotard and tights and a button-down blouse that frequently came off—which left nothing at all to the imagination. Marin was in fine voice, too, and just listening to her made something inside Braeden ache.

"Kinder nice, ain't it?" one of the techs said. "Gettin' a soundtrack while we're workin'."

She forced herself to smile. "Yeah, it is nice," she said. 

One more week.

* * *

Tech rehearsal wasn't nearly as terrible as Marin thought it might be, even with the new sound system. Braeden had told them precisely where to place the orchestra and she was right; not a bit of blocking needed to be changed. Marin had never heard her own voice so crisp and clear outside of a recording studio, and it took some getting used to for all of them. Braeden's suggestions helped guide them to the specific sound they wanted, which was a great deal cleaner than the rock concerts she'd been engineering over the past few years, and that only showed off her versatility.

Of course Braeden's professionalism and expertise only increased Marin's yearning for her, but that was probably to be expected. Everything in good time. At least she had stopped still wearing those tiny shorts and tank tops. A girl could only take so much.

* * *

Opening night sped past Marin in a blur, as usual. The band and the dancers were on top of their game, which helped her to be on top of her own. The house at Crystal Showroom was split between supportive close friends and skeptical industry types that she hoped she'd won over by the end. There was certainly applause enough, and she soaked it all up willingly, music to her ears after weeks of hard work.

After giving heartfelt congratulations to the dancers and musicians, she ran up to change clothes for the after party Alan was hosting in one of the large hospitality suites. Deep red silk pajamas and matching sparkly mules should set the right tone, a little bit of old Hollywood glamour modernized by Yves Saint Laurent, not unlike her show.

She arrived to a crush of well-wishers who cheered when she stepped into the room. A glass of champagne was pressed into her hand and Alan gave a toast, then it was mingle, mingle, mingle. The boys from her label were suggesting a live recording, especially once they'd heard that the sound wizard behind the AHMR live album, which was flying off the shelves, was also behind the update of the Crystal Showroom. Marin sent plenty of folks Braeden's way, with all the praise due her, though she couldn't see the woman at all in the crowd of people. All of Talia's pack were there, just as kind and complimentary as they had been when they'd visited her television show a few years ago. They, too, were full of kudos for Braeden, but Marin found that she really didn't mind sharing the spotlight at all.

About an hour or so into the party, she was talking to Allison Argent and Lydia Martin about their experiences on the AHMR tour when suddenly the crowds parted and there was Braeden, standing near the picture window, the lights of the strip flashing behind her. She wore a purple minidress with flowing bell sleeves, buckle shoes and shimmering stockings to match, and large silver hoops that matched the band holding back her curls. Braeden turned and made eye contact, and Marin forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Lydia put a hand on her shoulder. "Go talk to her, before one of you makes a scene."

"That obvious?" Marin asked.

"Not to the squares," Lydia replied. 

Allison nodded, smiling. "We'll have lunch tomorrow to catch up."

Marin took a deep breath. "Thanks," she said, and made her way through the well-wishers to the window.

"Great show," Braeden said, slowly looking her up and down. "You should be proud."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

Braeden smiled, slow and sexy. "Couldn't have done it without you, either."

Marin wasn't sure what to say next; she felt a little dizzy and took another deep breath, and a musky aroma filled her nose. "What is that scent you're wearing?" she asked.

"Oh, some cologne I stole from Derek," she replied. "He never uses it anyway. So have you spoken to everyone important?"

"I—I believe so, yes," Marin said, stumbling over her words because Braeden was wearing a minidress and _men's cologne_. "And you?"

"I have now," she said, looking up at Marin through her eyelashes as she took another sip of her cocktail.

Someone was taking her own glass out of her hand, and Marin turned to see Alan. "If you go through the door behind me, there's a separate exit to the hallway. Go quickly and no one will notice."

"No one will notice the guest of honor leaving her own party?" Marin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not if we put Boyd at the piano and get people singing," he said. "Plenty of hams in this crowd."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Braeden asked, draining her own glass and handing it to Alan.

Her own room was only four floors away, but the walk down the hall and the elevator ride seemed endless. At least it gave her a moment to calm down, get her cool back after losing it so completely at the party. By the time she was unlocking her door her hands were steady as anything.

"Would you like another drink?" Marin asked, tossing her keys on the nearby table and closing the door behind them.

Braeden shook her head. "I've had enough. Besides, I want to be clear-headed when we do this." Then she suddenly and unceremoniously pulled Marin into the kiss they'd clearly both been waiting for, frantic and a little clumsy and maybe too wet but perfect for all of that. Marin realized how long it had been since she'd felt like an equal who could give as good as she got rather than a trinket to be possessed and shown off.

"Don't you agree?" Braeden asked.

Marin's brain had to catch up to the question Braeden had asked, but then she smiled. "Absolutely," she said, and went in for another kiss.

It was on after that: shoes kicked off, jewelry flung out of harm's way onto the table, buttons and zippers and clasps deftly dispatched with, such that by the time they reached the bed they just had to shimmy out of panties and hose. Braeden's hands were everywhere, though to be fair Marin's were, too. She particularly liked the look and feel of Braeden's muscular thighs and upper arms as Braeden maneuvered Marin into place, just like her fantasies. What she hadn't thought of was how Braeden's full breasts would feel in her hands, warm and soft with dark nipples that hardened at her touch.

"I'm going to make you feel _so good_ ," Braeden said, holding Marin's hips down with a firm but gentle touch.

Marin smiled. "Then it's my turn."

Something in Braeden's grin made Marin realize she hadn't thought of that, and that was something to work on, to make sure Braeden saw herself as an equal partner in this thing they were beginning. Because that's how it felt—like the opening night of a very long run.

"Absolutely," Braeden said, and kissed her.

* * *

Braeden rather reluctantly left a sleeping Marin in bed the next morning, with a note saying she'd gone to the pool. She slipped up to her own room mostly unseen except by the staff, and quickly washed off the remnants of last night's makeup before donning her suit and cover up and heading back downstairs.

Derek was out by the pool himself, in the cabana Marin often used, Stiles by his side. Deciding it was best to just get it over with, she joined them.

"So," Derek said, not smiling exactly, but his eyes were twinkling and she sort of hated him.

"So," Braeden said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. She was a grown adult, after all. She focused on tucking her hair into her swim cap.

"Didn't notice you leaving the party last night," Derek said. "Or Marin, come to think of it."

"You probably were just paying attention to someone else," Braeden replied, ignoring the heat she felt in her cheeks. "You do get distracted."

Stiles's mouth fell open. "Is that—is she _blushing_?"

"Yes, she is," Derek said, sitting back and looking smug. "And it's adorable."

"You be quiet," Braeden said.

"Not on your life! You've been teasing me for years and it would take me just as long to get my own back."

Braeden scowled but could say nothing because he was right; she'd made her own bed and now she'd have to lie in it. Well, at least she wasn't lying in it alone anymore.

"And look, there's—what did you call him that time? Love's young dream?"

"You could at least be original," Braeden said, but she still looked over to the door.

Marin was strolling toward them, but she wasn't wearing her usual caftan and turban. Instead she was in a deep blue bikini, low sandals, with one of the crisp blouses she wore to dance rehearsal as a cover up, unbuttoned and swaying in the breeze. Of course her own hair was already neatly covered in a swim cap, and she had on giant sunglasses. The picture of chic as always.

"Hello, my darling," she said, putting a hand on Braeden's shoulder as she sat in a nearby chair. "Hello, boys. Lovely to see you."

They exchanged pleasantries for a bit, praise of Marin's show and Braeden's work and Stiles's band's success as Marin hadn't seen him in a few years.

Then Derek said, "Well, should we swim?" and they all nodded and stood up.

"I like to jump into the deep end. Don't you?" Marin asked.

Braeden realized she was asking about more than just swimming, but that was fine. She was ready, and if her friends could figure it out, so could she. "Yes. Let's dive right in."


End file.
